


and life goes on

by Della19



Series: more time [4]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, New OTP, War, Wonder Woman 2017 movie spoilers, also babies, the concept not the god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Della19/pseuds/Della19
Summary: Birth control when she had first come to this world had been largely limited to ‘pull out and pray,’ which had not boasted the best success rate, even for actual goddesses.  This, however, has much changed; now, the very options in this modern age are sometimes dizzying to her with their sheer variety.  And yet, despite their vast improvement in effectiveness, Diana admits there is still one universal flaw.You still have to remember to use them, Diana thinks ruefully, eying the little plastic stick in her hand, and it’s unmistakable plus sign.Diana is having ababy.Diana is meant to be recruiting a league, to defend the earth against an invading army of aliens, lead by impossibly powerful beings.Or, there is a baby coming…and also a war.





	and life goes on

***************************

_“I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask,_

_Mother, what was war?”_

 

― **Eve Merriam**

 

***************************

 

Diana has, in the past few miraculous months, become used to waking a certain way.  She wakes curled around Steve – around this impossibility made real – and luxuriates, just for a second, in _him_.  In the feel of his skin against her, the scent of him on her pillow, the warmth of him, alive and _beautiful_ beside her. 

 

This morning she wakes the same, except for one small difference.

 

She does make it to the washroom before she retches violently into the bowl. 

 

But only barely. 

 

“ _Angel?”_ Steve asks, concern dripping from his tone as he rushes into the bathroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes, no doubt woken by the foreign sound of her sickness.

 

Diana does not get ill.  The ailments of humanity do not touch her, even after all these years.

 

With one notable exception.

 

“I am fine,” Diana says, patting reassuringly at his hand, where it rubs at her back soothingly.  Already, the nausea has passed, already she feels well again.

 

And then, with a strange kind of fearful euphoria building deep inside of her, “It must have been something I ate.”

 

It is the first lie she has ever told him. She hopes it will be the last. 

 

Diana needs to visit a chemist. 

 

***************************

 

Birth control when she had first come to this world had been largely limited to ‘pull out and pray,’ which had not boasted the best success rate, even for actual goddesses.  This, however, has much changed; now, the very options in this modern age are sometimes dizzying to her with their sheer variety.  And yet, despite their vast improvement in effectiveness, Diana admits there is still one universal flaw. 

_You still have to remember to use them_ , Diana thinks ruefully, eying the little plastic stick in her hand, and it’s unmistakable plus sign. 

 

Diana is having a _baby_. 

 

She is so impossibly _happy_.

 

Diana is meant to be recruiting a league, to defend the earth against an invading army of aliens, lead by impossibly powerful beings.

 

She is so unspeakably _afraid_.

 

***************************

 

She killed him.  She’d refused his offer, turned away from his warped vision of paradise.  Ended her brother to banish his evil, to save those who could not save themselves.

 

To _stop_ it.

 

And yet.

 

War has found their happiness once more.

 

***************************

 

The night she told Steve about Darkseid, about what was coming it was raining, and they had been curled into a cocoon of each other, sharing a silence so lovely Diana had been loath to break it.  And yet, she had known that she must. For it was coming, regardless of his miraculous return to her, and Diana could not step aside, could not let come without stepping up to meet it.

 

Diana does not delight in war.  Amazons trained for it, yes, but it was not _war_ that had fueled them. 

 

It was _protection_. 

 

Diana had left Themyscira because she could not have looked at herself in the glass again if she had not stood to defend those who could not themselves.  She had lost that spark for many years after the great wars, but now that it has been ignited once more, she cannot again let it flicker and die.

 

So, she had told him.

 

 _We’ll fight this together_ , was all Steve had said, and Diana had only held him close and loved him, loved him, _loved him._

 

And yet, although he would not be the man she loves it he had answered otherwise, there still had been the part of her that had _desperately_ wished otherwise. 

 

The part of her that had laid trapped on a runway in Belgium, helpless but to watch the man she loved die. That had laid alone, feeling their child kick her, and having no hand to reach for, bring to that curve and delight in the feeling.  That watched their daughter take her first step, say her first word, fall in love for the first time, get her heart broken, and then fall in love for the last time.

 

_Alone._

 

The ambrosia will extend his life, keep him young indefinitely. 

 

It does not make him invincible. 

 

Diana had only scant days with Steve in his first life.

 

She had a _lifetime_ alone. 

 

It is not an experience she wishes to repeat in this miraculous second life.

 

***************************

 

Diana has lived a very long time.  She has done many, _many_ things in those years, and yet, she has never done this.

 

How does one tell their partner they are to be a father?

 

Once, she would have had Etta to ask, and Diana cannot help but feel her loss keenly.  Decades gone, and Diana still misses her friend, her warmth and her kindness, who had come to her in her times of need with her simple practical wisdom and her bright smile. 

 

And, as always, a little ice cream. 

 

Still, she does not have that option, and she cannot ask anyone else.  She refuses to let anyone else know this new miracle before Steve does, and media is little help to her. So many of the ways are sweet, but overly complicated.  Diana does not want anything to dilute the preciousness that is the _message_ , this joy beyond compare. 

 

And so, when Steve comes home that night – a box of saltines in his hands, and Diana loves him, loves him, _loves him_ – it is to the sight of her at their kitchen table, empty but for the indicator sitting before her.

 

The saltines fall to the floor from numb fingers, forgotten. 

 

When he looks up at her, the indicator in hand, his eyes are _luminous_. 

 

“It was not something I ate,” Diana says, tremulously, her smile threatening to split her face it feels so _wide_ , “I am pregnant.”

 

When she was carrying Helen, she never let herself imagine what it might feel like to tell him. 

 

She _could not_.  It had been too raw, too painful to even c _ontemplate_. 

 

When he _sweeps_ her into his arms, peppers her face, her abdomen with kisses wet with tears of pure _unadulterated joy_ , she knows it would have never have lived up to the _reality_ of this moment.

 

The world can wait.

 

This moment belongs to _them_.

 

***************************

 

“We have time still,” Steve says, later, as they lay in bed, lips brushing against her ear as he speaks, a statement as much as it is a question, his hand never wavering from its smooth movement along her still flat abdomen. 

 

 _I wish we had more time_ , he’d said into her ringing ears a century ago. 

 

This sounds depressingly similar. 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Diana says, with perhaps more force than she had intended, but it is more than mere wishes, it is truth, “Bruce’s best estimate puts them at a year away.”

 

A year. Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty-five days. 

 

So short an interval.   

 

 _I wish we had more time_ , Diana does not say, but oh, _oh_ does she _mean_ it.

 

“We’ll take the baby to your mother, when it’s time, to keep them safe,” Steve says, simple and resolute, as if he can make it truth by saying it, “And then we’ll _both_ come back and fight for this world.”

 

Gods, she _loves_ him. 

 

“I love you,” Diana says, as she has every day since he has been returned to her, since she has had the opportunity to do so, “More with every day.”

 

And then, because this too is true, a wonder that greets her every morning anew, “I did not think there was such room to grow, so great it was already, and yet every day I am proven gladly wrong.”

 

“ _Angel_ ,” Steve says, eyes as blue as the waters she pulled him from, “I was yours from, _you’re a man_.”

 

They say true soldiers fight not because what they hate is in front of them, but rather because what they love is behind them.

 

Diana thinks this is wise, but that it has nothing on the soldier that fights _beside_ whom they love.

 

***************************

 

Telling Helen does…not go well.

 

Though, Diana would be lying if she said she had believed it would. 

 

Helen, for all that she is a grown woman of nearly a century, is still that child who grew up with stories of a father rather than the man himself.  Who had a century of birthdays and anniversaries she was unable to experience with her father.  

 

And now, to tell her, only 5 months into having her father in her life, of being her father’s child, that there will be a new baby to split that love with? A new child who Steve will – and gods willing Diana will _make_ it sure he will – be able to be there, share in all of the milestones that Helen had only Diana for?

 

No, Diana did not think this would be easy.

 

Still, her daughter tries so _hard_.

 

“I’m happy for you,” Helen says, her smile forced and _fragile_ and Diana _hurts_ at the tears she knows are in her daughter’s eyes, that she refuses to let fall. 

 

When Helen turns abruptly and leaves, Diana cannot help but take a step, start to follow her.  She is only stopped by the soft weight of Steve’s hand on her wrist, that soothes rather than cages, draws her back into his embrace.

 

“No, you stay,” Steve tells her gently, cupping her face in those precious hands of his, his eyes meeting hers in perfect understanding, “It needs to be me that goes this time.”

 

And although everything in her rebels against this, her motherly need to comfort her child in pain so very _powerful_ , Diana only nods, rests her forehead on his, because it is the truth.  Her daughter does not need her mother now, but instead her father, and so Diana must be strong enough to let them go without her.

 

Diana _hates_ this feeling. 

 

Steve sends her a text that says only, _Went to Helen’s, talked to Mei. Going to Solihull, Helen is there. Don’t wait up. Love you._

Helen used to run to Etta, as a child, and later still as a woman grown, when there was something she could not share with her mother. 

 

Diana cannot begrudge her the need now. 

 

The hours pass agonizing slowly. Diana fills with them with busy work around the apartment, punctured with worried looks at her too silent phone.

 

She nearly jumps out of her skin when it _finally_ does _ding_.

 

Steve’s next text reads, _Helen in labor. Bring Mei, Heart of England Foundation Trust Hospital. Love you._

Diana is in her armor, and at Mei and Helen’s open balcony window before the phone can even enter sleep mode after the message has been received. 

“Shall we?” Mei says only says, entirely unfazed at the idea of what it means to have Diana standing here, garbed in her trappings of war.  Mei instead has her hair tied back so it will not get in their eyes, hospital bag strapped securely to her back. 

 

Diana has always thought Mei was an _extraordinary_ woman. 

 

Mei gets on her back with little fanfare.

 

And then, they _fly_.

 

The hospital is easy enough to find, and after they touch down, Diana and Mei waste no time in making their way to the maternity ward, uncaring of her armor, of the spectacle that she must make.

 

“ _Mommy,”_ Helen says when she sights them, holding the hand not cradled in Steve’s own towards her, and Diana rushes to her side.

 

“I’m _so sorry_ ,” her daughter says, sweat on her brow, those tears again in her eyes, “I was childish, and _stupid_.”  And then her eyes tilted upwards at Diana, sparkling with her utter _sincerity_ , “I _really_ am _so happy_ for you both.”

 

Diana is so tremendously _proud_ of her little girl.

 

“My love, you were truthful, and you need _never_ apologize to me for that,” Diana soothes, running a hand across her daughter’s face before pressing a kiss there, “Now, put it out of your mind, focus on what is important.”

 

“You’ll stay?” Her daughter – her _baby_ – entreats, and Diana has only one answer for her.

 

“Always,” Diana says, taking her daughter’s hand as Steve holds the other, and Mei takes her place at the top of the bed, surrounding Helen with _love itself_ , “ _Always_.” 

 

Behind the pillow, Steve’s fingers of his free hand find her own, rub softly there.

 

There is nowhere else she would rather be. 

 

Anamarie Trevor-Zhao, Princess of Themyscira is born in the early hours of twilight.  She weighs in at six pounds eight ounces, and in Diana’s _entirely objective_ opinion, she is the most perfect child in existence. 

 

“We’re going to call her Ana,” Helen says, eyes never more beautiful and soft as she stares at her child in Diana’s arms, the silky black of her hair a striking contrast against the sparkling glint of Diana’s braces, “In honor of the bravest and best woman I know.”

 

Diana blames her tears on the baby. Her family is kind enough not to correct her. 

 

***************************

 

 

Diana has just entered her sixteenth week of her pregnancy when Bruce sends her an email, notifying her that he has made contact with Barry Allen, and that he hopes to bring him to Paris for a meeting.  Diana agrees, and thus, she finds herself home on a Sunday afternoon with the express purpose of hosting The Flash and The Batman.

 

Occasionally, her life is rather strange. 

 

As such, this is how she finds a blur of blue lightening and dark hair streaking into her kitchen, missing the pots hanging from her stove by only mere _centimeters_.

 

“You’re pregnant,” the man – though really, hardly more than a boy – says, skidding to a stop, eyes goggled almost comically wide.

 

She’s going to like Barry Allen, she thinks. 

 

“Diana, Princess of Themyscira” She offers pleasantly, and though she already knows the answer, civility is of vital importance in a first impression, “And you are?”

 

“Right, sorry, Barry Allen, fastest man alive,” Barry says, with a truly _adorably_ awkward wave, before he returns to the point he cannot seem to move past, “But seriously, you’re _pregnant_.”

 

“I am,” Diana says simply, a trickle of light amusement running through her, “I am also pleased to meet you.”

 

“Barry, what did I say about - ” Bruce’s voice shouts from the doorway, and Diana’s amusement only grows at the somehow long suffering tone. Bruce only made contact with Barry a week ago, and yet he sounds somehow like he has both adopted a child and aged ten years.

 

 _It looks good on him_ , Diana thinks fondly. 

 

And then Bruce steps in, takes on look at her, and just _stops_.

 

“You’re _pregnant_ ,” Bruce – a man whose alter ego the Gotham Tribute once called _The World’s Greatest Detective_ – says, dumbly. 

 

Diana thinks it is possible he has just aged ten more years in this moment. 

 

“Yes, we have established that already,” Diana says, hiding her smile behind a concealing hand, returning pleasantly only, “Hello Bruce, it is nice to see you again.”

 

Bruce just _stares_ back.

 

“We should talk,” Bruce says, slowly, and Diana acquiesces with a nods of her shoulder towards the drawing room.  

 

“Barry, stay here and try not to _break anything_ while I’m gone,” Bruce says, sparing a look that Diana can only describe as _exasperated father_ over his shoulder, which Barry returns with a half apologetic, half defensive, “Look man, that was _one_ _time_!”

 

Diana rather imagines it has been more than _one_ time.

 

“That seems to be going well,” Diana says, tongue only partially in cheek as they head into the next room.  Bruce, in turn, takes the opportunity to tear his eyes away from the slight swell of her abdomen to declare, with a certain _passion_ , “The car he almost _totaled_ disagrees.”

 

“Please, _please_ tell me you call it the _Batmobile_ ,” Steve entreats cheekily, entering from the bedroom, and Diana feels her smile grow only incrementally larger.  The last time Bruce was here, he made the mistake of mentioned that he’d once had a cat-burglar girlfriend who’d refused to refer to his things without the prefacing ‘bat’ terminology.

 

Steve continues to find it _endlessly_ amusing. 

 

Bruce is clearly not in the mood, as he does not engage with the retort as he usually does.  Rather, he spins towards Steve and asks, incredulously, “You’re going to let her fight when she’s… _like this_?” And Diana does not let her ire build, because he means well, even if he is misguided. 

 

And then Steve speaks, and she has no room for anything in her heart but _love_.

 

“What she does isn’t up to me,” Steve answers, with a smile she cannot help but to return.

 

It is a moment one hundred years in the making. 

 

It is _tremendously_ worth it.

 

And then, Steve takes her hand in his own, twines their fingers together and then, to Bruce, with a pragmatic air, “Besides, there’s nothing either one of us could do to stop her.  Might as well join her instead.”

 

Bruce looks at them as if he thinks they are both insane. 

 

“ _Right_ ,” he eventually says, flatly, the air of a man _finally_ defeated, before turning back to Steve, “You have any of that beer left?”

 

Bruce has spent almost a quarter of a century fighting crime, undaunted in his mission.

 

Diana is perhaps a little _proud_ that _this_ is what finally made him falter. 

 

“Do we ever,” Steve says cheerfully, slapping an understanding hand down on Bruce’s shoulder, and as he leads Bruce back into the kitchen, he throws a cheeky wink at her over his shoulder.

 

Diana is doing quite well at battling down the laugh that wants to escape her throat. 

 

Then, there is a _crash_ , and a _yelp_ , not unlike one of her hanging pots falling on the head of a speedster, and Bruce’s exasperated, “Barry, what did I _just_ say!” echoes into the room. 

 

Diana loses her valiant fight and succumbs to her mirth. 

 

***************************

 

 

It’s the lightning that wakes her.

 

The flash of light streaks across the wall of their room, and jolts her into a stake of some half-awareness, still firmly caught in the tempting grip of Morpheus. 

 

“Tell Barry to leave, I’m _sleeping_ ,” Steve whines tiredly into her back, because Ana is a month old and not particularly concerned with helping her grandparents – to say nothing of her parents - maintain a regular sleeping schedule.

 

And then, thunder crashes outside their window, and Diana is suddenly _wide_ awake.

 

“That is not Barry,” she says slowly, and Steve jolts out of sleep behind her, suddenly aware, ready for battle.  And yet, Diana knows this too is unnecessary. 

 

She knows _exactly_ who is in their home.

 

She finds the King of the Gods in their nursery.

 

“Must you always do _this_ ,” Diana finds herself saying instead of a greeting, gesturing at the _pageantry_ of the flash of lightning outside of the window, her mouth moving almost without the permission of her mind. 

 

 _She inherited her smile from her father as well_ , Diana realizes. 

 

“Occupational hazard,” Zeus allows, hints of what Diana knows must be a rare smile still lingering on his face, before he turns to Steve who has come up behind her and greets, seriously, “Steve Trevor, it is good to see you.”

 

He does not say _meet_. 

 

Diana is still not brave enough to give much thought to the _why_ of that. 

 

“You too,” Steve says, running an awkward hand through his hair, clearly self-conscious of his shirtless state before he clearly decides to _go with the flow_ in that lovely adaptable way he has, “Thanks for that whole _bringing me back to life_ thing.”

 

Zeus only nods, once, in return.

 

Diana thinks there is little that _can_ be said to that. 

 

And then, before Diana can ask him why he happens to be in the room they are in the process of turning into their nursery this night, she turns towards the center and the _sight_ that catches her eye answers the question she has not even asked. 

 

When Diana went to bed only scant hours before, the crib Sameer carved for Helen _oh so_ many years ago stood alone in the room.

 

Now, it is joined by a mobile, hanging over the crib, and the _loveliness_ of it nearly steals her breath. 

 

There is no soft fabric or children’s toys here, but instead Diana looks upon the very _stars_. 

 

Clustered into small galaxies, they hang, connected by floating silvery ties that shimmer and shine like _living_ things.  It is an object made of undeniable care, and Diana can hardly take her eyes from its _brilliance_.

 

Diana wonders, if she touched it, it might burn like true stars.    

 

She thinks it _might_. 

 

“I made this for you, when your mother announced she was carrying a child,” Zeus says, finally turning away from the mobile to turn those eyes they share at her, and for a second the swirling nebulas and gleaming stars reflect into his eyes as he looks at her, ancient and _otherworldly_ , “It would mean…a great deal to me if you might accept it for your child.”

 

“It is... _beautiful_ ,” Diana finally says, finding her voice, staring at this gift her father had made with his own hands, the stars he had plucked from the very sky, dreaming of a child he never got to see grow.

 

And then, certainly not just for _this_ , but it provides a perfect excuse, “ _Thank you_.”

 

Zeus only nods again, but there is something in those eyes that tells Diana her answer has touched him.

 

“You could tell her,” Diana finds herself saying as he turns to leave, and then watches his profile, as still as the statue that stood of him in Themyscira. 

 

And, of course, of the woman they both love who still resides there.

 

“Good night, Diana,” Zeus says, _softly_ , and then there is another _flash_ , and he is gone.

 

 _Good night_. 

 

Not, _good bye._

There is a strange weight upon her chest, like she is drowning upon dry land. 

 

“So that’s your dad,” Steve says blandly into the thick silence left by his departure, “Zeus, King of the Gods. Who journeyed down into the Underworld, took my soul and stuck it into a new body and a new life.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Diana only says, heavily.  Her feelings on her father are still too hard to put into words.  

 

Perhaps, she thinks, the words do not even exist in any of the _hundreds_ of languages she can speak.   

 

“ _Ah_ ,” Steve says slowly.  And then, with a lightly contemplative tone, “He’s kind of hot, in a Liam Neeson sort of way.” 

 

Diana is somewhat surprised she does not strain a muscle in her neck, she whips her head around to look at him so quickly.  Steve only raises his eyebrows, declares, with an innocent look on his face, “I’m just _saying_ , I can see the appeal.”  

 

Diana just _stares_ at him.

 

Steve stares back.

 

They both burst into laughter at the same time. 

 

By the time she has caught her breath from laughing, that strange weight in her chest is gone.

 

He’s brilliant, this man she loves. 

 

***************************

 

“We are going to have to go to Themyscira, to inform my mother,” Diana announces one night while they are laying together in bed, Steve providing a truly above average foot rub, “I am overdue for a visit.”

 

The is a moment of silence, and then.

 

“What are the odds on your mother killing me?” Steve asks, fatalistically from his vantage point at the base of the bed. 

 

Diana supposes she cannot hold that against him, given his…introduction to the Queen of Themyscira. 

 

“She will not harm you,” Diana says, poking him chidingly with her foot. And then, at Steve’s raised eyebrow, Diana takes a moment to actually consider it – of her own feelings if Helen had returned home from an absence pregnant with a long dead lover, the result of her own presumed dead lover’s action.

 

This is, perhaps, going to be a more _fraught_ visit than she had been imaging.

 

Diana amends, with a slight wince, “I am more likely to be the target of her ire.”

 

“I’ll protect you,” Steve says, sweet and soft with just the right amount of _cheek_.

 

Well, Diana knows _exactly_ what to do with _that_.

 

“Will you now?” Diana purrs, invitingly, and well, let it never be said that Steve does not _rise_ to the challenge.  

 

Needless to say, her mother is not on her mind for the rest of the evening. 

 

***************************

 

Diana is not unaware of the advancements that modern medicine has made in the field of childbirth in the last century.  She was present at Ana’s birth, after all, and at several of Helen’s prenatal appointments in addition. 

 

And yet, staring at the miraculous thing that is the fuzzy little thing that is their own child on the screen of the sonogram machine is an _entirely_ different experience. 

 

“Is _that_ …?” Steve asks, before trailing off in utter _wonder_ that Diana understands _completely_.  It is one thing to know that you are having a child.

 

It is another thing entirely to _see_ it. 

 

This is suddenly so very _real_.

 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor says, answering at least one of the questions that Steve had posed and for a second, Diana cannot find her breath.

 

A boy. 

 

They are having a _son_. 

 

His lips, when they kiss her, _tremble_ with an emotion too powerful to name.

 

Diana knows this, for so too do her own. 

 

The doctor kindly gives them time to compose themselves, and when he returns they are once again more put together, less _raw_.

 

“This is very nice,” Diana says, gesturing to the pamphlet that she has picked up about the birthing arrangements available, musing aloud, “The last time I did this, the options were only entirely natural or massive amounts of opioids and surgery while you were incapacitated. Several women died that way.”

 

By this new modern standard, childbirth in 1919 had left _much_ to be desired, Diana thinks it is safe to say.

 

The silence born of her statement is particularly weighted, Diana realizes after a moment. 

 

“She escaped from a cult,” Steve says cheerfully to the frankly _horrified_ doctor, the easy smile of his old spy days resting on his face, “Vegetables, cotton only clothing, that sort of thing.”

 

The doctor still looks utterly aghast.  Diana attempts to do her best to convey the sort of innocence she thinks is required from Steve’s lie, widening her eyes and blinking up at the doctor. 

 

She thinks if the doctor’s continued look of horror is any indication, she likely fails. 

 

“So, we’re probably going to need to get another obstetrician,” Steve says blandly once they’re back down on the street, a familiar twinkle in his eye, and Diana can only answer in kind, desperately trying to keep her face straight, “I believe you are correct.”

 

There is a moment of silence, where they simply look at one another. 

 

They both burst into laughter at the same time. 

 

There is still a war coming, and a child – their little _boy_ , this addition to their already _so_ beloved family – that both grow closer with every passing day. And yet, as she curls her face into Steve’s neck to bury her giggles, feels his arms shake with laughter as they wrap around her, Diana suddenly knows no fear.

 

A century ago, Diana had asked him what people did when they were not at war.  His answer had been, _get a job, get married, have children_ and this had seemed like a good one to her at the time. 

 

Now, Diana knows he had only been half right. 

 

For yes, these are things of peace, but now too she knows they are _also_ the things of war.

 

For war may rage, but _life_ – this strange, magical, painful thing – still goes on.  And this, _this_ – every kiss from his lips, every tremble of his hands in her own, every delighted laugh and aching tear comes to fruition even in the face of strife – _this_ , is how her brother never could have won. 

 

There is a war coming, and Diana thinks;

 

_Let it come._

 

It stands no match for _happiness_. 

 

For _love_.

 

*************************** 

 

_coda_

 

 ***************************

 

“You know, we’re also going to have to go to Ohio, to meet my parents,” Steve says, too casual to be genuine, looking up from his phone at her to finish, _deliberately_ , “They’re never going to let me live not introducing them to their _grandchildren_.”

 

 _Ah_ , Diana thinks, _there is that_. 

 

And Diana looks at her daughter, a woman grown of a century old who looks no more than thirty – as old as her own mother and father – her own child nestled at her breast, her wife resting her head on her shoulder.  Thinks of all of the shaky camera footage that exists of her, fighting Doomsday and her other, more recent acts in her armor and Antiope’s diadem. 

 

Diana is over five thousand years old.  She has killed a god, fought in two great wars, fallen in love, lost and found again that love, birthed a child and had many lovers.  She has lived a full and rich life. 

 

She has never _met the parents_.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Helen says, eloquently summing the mood of the room up into one neat word. 

 

Well, perhaps she knows one fear.

 

***************************

 

FIN

 

***************************

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Again, I’m so terribly flattered how this series has been received so far! As such, have some more happiness tinged with angst, because apparently that’s the only way I can write Diana. Oops. Oh well, next planned; Helen’s POV on her and Steve’s conversation/the baby, and a meet the parents fic, because seriously, I was like, _where can this series go next_ and then I remembered that this Steve has nice regular person parents in Ohio who still need to meet their son’s girlfriend and their grandchild…and her girlfriend…and her child and yeah, at that point I knew I had a fic I needed to write ;) Watch the movie, enjoy, comment and all that good stuff.


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